


I Can Communicate With Newborn Fawns

by fandomshere_fandomsthere



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: AU of some sort, F/M, Fluff, faun!Ross, he'll get better though, probably, ross is a dick, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8199457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomshere_fandomsthere/pseuds/fandomshere_fandomsthere
Summary: What’s in front of you definitely isn’t human. Antlers sprout from its head of light brown hair. At its waist, pale skin fades into soft, light brown fur spattered with white spots. The sight reminds you of a satyr from Greek mythology. You see its short tail twitch in what you assume is a mix of curiosity and agitation. Normally you’d feel guilty and rude for staring at someone for this long and with such wide eyes, but are what you supposed to do when there’s a creature who is half man and half deer standing in front of you?





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siren_Of_Old](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siren_Of_Old/gifts).



> This idea came to me as I was listening to "Why I Cry" for the millionth time and saw Ross dancing around in that fawn costume. It's dedicated to my good friend Siren_Of_Old, who I recently dragged into the Game Grumps fandom >:3c

                Wait. Hadn’t you just gone down this path? That rock looks awfully familiar. You sigh and grip the straps of your hiking backpack, trudging forward. You refuse to think you’re lost. The forest is silent save for the light scuff of your boots across the ground as you move through it, carefully examining your surroundings, determined to find your way back to the trail you’d left behind.

            There’s that same rock again.

            “Shit,” you grumble.

            You let out a long sigh and sit among the roots of a towering redwood tree. The trees of the same kind that surround you reach up to the heavens like skyscrapers, reminding you that you’re lost in the middle of nowhere. There’s not a city around for miles—you’re smack dab in the middle of the redwood forest of California. It’s just you and the trees. And, of course, whatever’s lurking about in the undergrowth. You swallow thickly at the thought of encountering a wild animal in the dead of night, its dark vision vastly superior to yours, leaving you helpless as its teeth sink into your neck—

            A shiver of fear runs down your spine and you shake your head, pushing that thought away. Getting yourself scared won’t do any good. Right now, the best thing to do is think. It’s going to get dark in a few hours, and you’ll need to find some sort of shelter soon. Maybe, if you’re lucky, a group of ambitious (and stupid) hikers like yourself or a park ranger will come through and lead you back to civilization.

            You’re snapped out of your thoughts by a rustling in the bushes. Normally, it would be barely audible, just a background noise in the forest ambience, but knowing that you’re lost and relatively defenseless, it rings louder than a gunshot in your ears. You scramble noisily to your feet, mentally cursing yourself for alerting whatever’s in the bushes to your presence. Hands shaking, you reach for the Swiss army knife in your pocket. You’re not going to die right now. Or maybe you will, since your shaky grip causes you to drop the knife into the undergrowth, the ferns swallowing it. You resist the urge to groan loudly in frustration. There’s no way you’ll be able to find it quickly enough.

            Your gaze snaps back to the bushes as they rustle again, louder and more violently this time. Two blue eyes peek out from the leaves. Two very human-looking eyes. You relax slightly at the possibility of rescue or at least not being alone. You’re about to say something, but as you open your mouth, the figure steps out, and your words die in your throat.

            What’s in front of you definitely isn’t human. Antlers sprout from its head of light brown hair. At its waist, pale skin fades into soft, light brown fur spattered with white spots. The sight reminds you of a satyr from Greek mythology. You see its short tail twitch in what you assume is a mix of curiosity and agitation. Normally you’d feel guilty and rude for staring at someone for this long and with such wide eyes, but are what you supposed to do when there’s a creature who is half man and half deer standing in front of you?

            “Are you done staring?” the creature says. Your face burns and you look back up at his face. You struggle for the name of the creature, when it comes to you suddenly.

            “Y-you’re a faun,” you blurt dumbly.

            The faun raises an eyebrow. “And you’re a human. Now that we’re done stating the obvious, what are you doing in my forest?”

            _Who knew mythical creatures could be such dicks?_ you think. You push that thought to the back of your head, not wanting to further offend what may be your only hope of survival at this point. The faun listens to you explain that you’d wanted to take a less common, more dangerous hiking trail than most people usually did, and smirks when you tell him that you’re lost. All the while, you try not to stare at his large ears that twitch occasionally. They look soft, and if he were a normal animal, you’d want to pet them.

            “You’re going to be stuck out here for a while,” the faun says when you finish. “You’re the first human I’ve seen come near this part of the forest for months. Even the park rangers don’t usually come out this far.” Your heart sinks.

            “Oh God,” you groan, running both of your hands down your face. “I’m going to die out here, aren’t I?”

            “If starvation doesn’t get you, the bears will,” the faun says flatly. He looks at you as you dig your fingers into your scalp, a few hairs coming loose from your ponytail. He strokes his chin thoughtfully for a moment, as if considering something. You don’t bother to look up from the ground. You’re too busy wallowing in your own self-pity and desperation as you attempt to come up with a plan—not to escape the wilderness, but just _survive_ at this point. You miss what the faun says to you and look up at him.

            “What?” you say.

            “Come with me,” he repeats. “You won’t have a chance otherwise.” Before you can accept or deny his offer, he’s pushing past the leaves of the bush he first emerged from. You scramble after him, your shirt snagging on the branches.

            “I never caught you name,” you say as you catch up to him.

            He turns to look at you from over his shoulder, a small smile on his lips. “It’s Ross.”


	2. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Believing in something new is always hard, especially when you've been told it's impossible all your life.

            You walk for what seems like hours, struggling to keep up with Ross. He’s much lighter on his hooves than you could ever hope to be on your feet. Even for an experienced hiker such as yourself, this path is near impossible. Tree roots and vines stretch across the path, making it so you have to pick your way across to prevent from crashing face-first to the ground. Ross never so much as looks back, and you’re thankful that his little white tail stands out so much against the various greens and browns of the forest. Otherwise, you’d be lost again.

            Ross isn’t much for conversation at the moment, so you take the opportunity to reflect on the odd circumstances that had recently befallen you. Getting lost in the forest wasn’t too unusual, but running into a mythical creature certainly was. Part of you wonders if you had fallen down a cliff and been knocked unconscious, making all of this a dream. That theory quickly proves false as a branch knocks into the back of your head, causing a sharp jolt of pain to shoot through your body. You certainly would have woken up from that.

            You almost run into Ross, having been lost in thought and not paying as much attention to the path in front of you as you should have. You take a few steps back, looking at him sheepishly. He smiles slightly before going through a gap in the trees, pushing aside a curtain of ivy. You follow, the leaves whispering against the forest floor and your clothes. When you emerge from the other side, a gasp escapes your lips.

            You’re standing in a clearing, sunlight pouring in from the branches that spread across the trees that outline it. The ground is void of undergrowth, covered instead with a thick carpet of green grass and the occasional patch of wildflowers. A large, moss-covered rock sits in the center of the clearing, but what draws your attention the most is the massive tree on the opposite side directly in front of you. Its trunk splits at the middle about ten feet above the ground, rounding out to form walls, and the roots are woven together to form a sort of bed. A thick layer of moss sits atop of that, serving as a mattress. Ross’ clearing feels like another world, something straight out of a fairytale or a myth.

            “It’s beautiful,” you breathe. “Is this where you live?”

            “Yep,” Ross confirms with a nod. He sits down on the rock and gestures to the entire clearing with a grand sweeping gesture. “Welcome to my humble abode. Make yourself at home.” You sit down cross-legged on the ground near the rock, putting you on Ross’ left side. You gaze around the clearing, looking up at the blue sky that’s slowly turning red as the sun sets and listening to the birds singing their last songs of the day. Silence falls between you and the faun, but it’s not uncomfortable. It almost feels companionable.

            “So,” you begin after a moment, “what do you do all day?”

            Ross shrugs. “The usual. Tend to dying or damaged plants. Look for berries and such to eat. See if there are any humans wandering around in dangerous parts of the forest.” He smirks slightly at you and you blush slightly and look at the ground, embarrassed. Ross laughs, and your blush deepens ever so slightly. That’s a nice sound. You wonder how you can make him laugh again. You look back at the tree.

            “And how did you do that?” you ask. Ross follows your gaze, and he smiles.

            “That was definitely a labor of love,” he says with a note of wistfulness in his voice. “It took a lot of coaxing to get the tree to do that for me. Trees are naturally stuck in their ways, but this one’s especially stubborn.”

            “You say that like it’s a person,” you say with a laugh. Your laughter dies in your throat when Ross meets your eyes, his sky-blue gaze turned to ice.

            “Every living thing has personality,” he says rather curtly. “Trees are stubborn. Flowers are flighty. Grass is quiet. Ivy is suffocating.” He looks back at the tree. “Despite what you might think, the world doesn’t revolve around humans. It lived many years without you, and it could live on with you gone.”

            Your brow furrows in frustration. He’d gotten offended awfully quickly. “Sorry I didn’t know that plants had personalities. In case you didn’t notice, I’m not exactly a wizard. I don’t know much about magic. Hell, I didn’t even believe it _existed_ until today!” You throw your hands in the air for emphasis. With a sigh, you bring your hands back down to rest in your lap. “It’s still a little hard to believe this is real.”

            “Why’s it so hard? It’s right in front of you.”

            “It’s a little more complicated than that. Imagine you’ve believed that something was true for pretty much your entire life. Then, one day, someone who completely contradicts that shows up out of the blue, and it turns out that that thing you believed was wrong. Wouldn’t you have trouble believing it at first?”

            Ross looks at his tree for a moment before answering. “Yeah. I guess I would.” You nod once, satisfied. A ladybug crawls across your boot. You watch it take a meandering path down the side of the thick rubber sole, across the laces, lingering for a moment on the toe before it crawls back down into the grass.

            “Can you show me?” you ask, still looking at the ladybug as it makes its way across the blades of grass.

            “Show you what?” Ross replies, and you can feel his gaze on you.

            You look up to meet it. The blue in his eyes has changed again. His eyes still look like the sky, but a darker blue, like it’s the moment before night fully falls and turns the heavens black. It’s absolutely captivating. The more you look at Ross, the more you realize that everything about him is captivating: his pale skin, his lightly toned muscles, his color-changing eyes, his graceful movements, his laugh, even that dumb smirk. If he were a human, you’d probably be quite smitten with him. But since he’s a faun, you push those feelings down.

            “Magic,” you say. Ross considers your request for a moment, his eyes narrowed slightly and his nose wrinkled a bit. He stands up wordlessly, gesturing for you to follow him.

            The two of you walk to the edge of the clearing. Ross puts his hand up without turning around, and you stop a few feet behind him. The light is quickly fading, making it that much easier for you to see the green glow that’s surrounding Ross’ hands. The magic looks like thousands of glowing, emerald green specks of dust, flowing around the faun’s hands, almost pulsating. He kneels down, pressing his palms to the roots of the tree in front of him, and the glow seeps into the bark. You can see it just beneath the surface as branches slowly grow off of the roots, twisting to form an intricate shape. The branches keep growing. They don’t stop until they’ve formed a familiar-looking figure, and then they sprout leaves so quickly that you would have missed it if you blinked. The glow fades, and you take a step forward, reaching for the hedge that Ross has just made in your image, your jaw hanging slack with awe. Ross stands back up.

            “Do you believe it now?” he asks, his voice a little lower than normal.

            You swear you can see the stars in his eyes.


	3. Subtle Differences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting someone new is always a learning experience.

            You open your eyes blearily as sunlight shines on your face. Panic buzzes through you for a moment before you remember where you are; waking up in a forest clearing can be a disorienting experience. You let out a yawn as you sit up, the top of the blanket from your hiking backpack slipping off of you and pooling on your lap. Your back pops a few times as you stretch, eliciting a small pleased sound to form in the back of your throat. Sleeping on the forest floor is definitely not the most comfortable situation to be in.

            Ross is still asleep. Getting the tree to form such an intricate shape so quickly had taken a lot of effort on his part, and he’d seemed drained after his magical demonstration. His ears had drooped as he dragged himself to his root-woven mattress, and you could hear him let out a small snore as soon as he laid down. Now his ears were twitching every so often instead of drooping. You smile slightly at the sight, reminded of a sleeping cat having a dream.

            You fold your blanket and return it to your backpack, resting the backpack against the rock before standing up. Your legs ache in protest, fatigued from all the normal hiking you’d done the previous day, not to mention the painstaking tiptoe you’d had to endure on your way here. You sit on the rock, rubbing your legs, pressing your fingers in and working your muscles as best you can. A small groan of relief escapes your lips as the ache begins to fade, and you think you see Ross’ ears twitch violently out of the corner of your eye. Once your legs feel better, you approach the hedge Ross had made last night.

            The shape before you is definitely you—there could be no mistake. The hedge—no, the _sculpture_ has all the details and smoothness of a marble statue, something you hadn’t been able to see in the darkness. You hesitantly touch the leaves of its—your—face, almost expecting them to lash out and strangle you in their vines. Nothing happens, however. The statue’s expression doesn’t change. It still looks a little lost, its hands gripping the straps of the enormous backpack it’s wearing, its face turned upwards, looking at the sky for some sort of answer. You suppose this is how Ross first saw you. Lost, scared, and alone. Now you’re none of those things. You wonder when (or if) you’re going to be able to get home, but you’re not scared anymore. Ross had helped with that.

            Ross. A light snore reminds you of the faun’s presence once again, and your thoughts turn to him. Where would you be if he hadn’t found you? You shiver as you imagine yourself dying of starvation or thirst, and you can’t help but think getting mauled by a bear would be more pleasant. At least it would be quicker. If Ross had never bumped into you, you most likely would have died within a few days of getting stranded in the forest. You owe everything to his kindness. But how long is it going to last? He’ll probably tire of you quickly. He lives alone, and will most likely become uncomfortable with your presence after a few short days. With a short, sharp sigh, you decide that you’ll learn as much as you can from the faun about surviving in the forest and take your leave as soon as possible.

            “Morning,” Ross yawns from his tree, startling you. He huffs out a sleepy laugh, the sound a little deeper than the first one you’d heard. You try to ignore the way your breath hitches.

            “Morning,” you reply, your voice wavering a bit. Ross smirks at you.

            “Even rabbits don’t get scared _that_ easily,” he teases. He laughs again as you glare at him and cross your arms.

            “I thought you were still asleep,” you grumble defensively. Ross twitches his ears at you and stands up, stretching his arms above his head. You hear a crack as he tilts his head to the side and you wince, but it doesn’t look like it fazes him. He walks to the ivy curtain, and you realize he’s about to leave.

            “Ross, wait,” you say, jogging over to him. He looks at you questioningly, his eyes that are once again the color of a clear summer sky boring into you. You hesitate.

            “What?” Ross says after a moment of silence.

            “Uh…can I come with you?” you ask, mumbling. Ross’ gaze flicks up and down your form, and you shuffle awkwardly.

            “Not in those you can’t,” he says, gesturing to your hiking boots. “You’ll scare off everything within ten miles clomping around in those.”

            “You want me to go barefoot?” you say incredulously.

            “I manage,” Ross says, lifting a hoof. You laugh in spite of yourself and give in, unlacing your boots and yanking them off, setting them next to your backpack. Your thick socks provide an acceptable cushion, and besides, walking around without shoes is better than staying in the clearing by yourself all day. Ross nods once in approval and pushes the ivy aside for you. You smile at him, surprised by the gesture. He follows close behind you, and the two of you head into the forest.

* * *

 

            Ross is a little more considerate today. He walks only a few feet in front of you, making it much easier to follow him. It’s a bit harder to walk without your boots, and you trip quite a few times, but you manage. Most of the time you and Ross share a comfortable silence, but he answers any questions you have about the kinds of plants you see and tells you which berries are safe to eat. He tells you stories of everything from other people who had gotten lost in the forest to his favorite plants.

            You’re sitting on the ground, your arms wrapped around your bent knees, listening to Ross’ tale of two trees who had gotten their branches tangled together and proceeded to whine like children as he heals a massive crack in a different tree’s bark. You swear you can see its leaves shudder when the magic seeps into the wood, but you dismiss it as a trick your eyes are playing on you. The magic around Ross’ hands is a little different than the kind he had showed you last night; it’s a lighter, springier green, and it moves more slowly, flowing into the crack like molasses.

            “How old are you?” you ask suddenly. Ross’ eyes flick over to you for a moment before focusing back on the tree.

            “I’m not exactly sure,” he admits. “Young for a faun though.”

            “Take a guess,” you insist.

            Ross’ brow creases as he concentrates. “I’d say about five hundred.”

            “That’s _young_ for a faun?” Your jaw has gone completely slack. You never would have guessed that—he looks like he’s in his late twenties, if that.

            “Well, how old are _you_?” he retorts, tail twitching in slight irritation.

            “Twenty-five,” you answer flatly. Ross turns his head towards you, his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide.

            “You’re kidding.” You shake your head. “How long do humans live?”

            “Around eighty years. Ninety if we’re lucky. Most people never get close to a hundred.” The faun shakes his head in wonder, returning his gaze to the trunk in front of him. You wonder what else he doesn’t know about humans. You ask him who his parents are, and his brow creases again.

            “What are parents?” he asks, genuine confusion in his voice.

            “Well,” you say, drawing out the sound of the W, trying to think of how to explain this, “they’re the people who…gave birth to you.”

            “Oh. I thought only animals worked like that,” Ross says.

            “If you don’t have parents, where did you…come from?” you ask.

            “I came to be when the tree I live in grew. Fauns are spirits of the forest. There used to be a lot more like me, but…” He trails off and swallows thickly. “I’m the only one left here now. Every other faun’s home got destroyed. We’re not tied directly to our trees like dryads are, but it takes a big toll on us emotionally when our tree is gone. They’re our best friends. We grew as they did. That’s why I’m glad mine is so deep in the forest.” You’re standing next to him now. You gently place a hand on his arm, and he smiles weakly at you.

            “What happened to everyone else?” you ask quietly.

            “They ran off,” Ross says, a note of sadness in his voice. “I could have gone with them, but I wanted to stay. My tree’s still here, and this place is my home. Besides, who would look after the forest if I was gone?”

            “I’m glad you’re still here,” you say, looking down at your hand. “I would have been a goner otherwise.”

            Ross smiles at you, soft and warm. His eyes are a little glassy, but you don’t say anything. At your insistence, he tells you more stories. This time, they’re about his friends.


	4. Adaptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's easy to get used to an unusual situation if you've been in it long enough.

            Ross has been alone for a long time. Sure, he has the trees, and the flowers, and the grass, and all the other plants, an almost infinite number of companions, but it’s just not the same. It’s been years since he’s heard someone else’s voice—someone who speaks out loud, rather than just a voice he can hear in his head. He’s seen other humans, but they always manage to leave the forest without speaking to him. And then you came along.

            It’s not that Ross has never interacted with humans before. He remembers hiding behind the legs of Brian, one of the older fauns, and holding tight to the hands of his friends Dan and Arin when a group of humans clad in animal skins had come into the forest, seeking guidance. Back then, when his antlers were only a few inches long, humans had known of magic and dryads and other spirits of nature, and had respected them. But as Ross aged, humans slowly forgot. People with skin as pale as his own had replaced the others, and his friends started disappearing. Dan and Arin left last. They retreated north, and Ross was left alone with the birdsong.

            Solitude isn’t so bad. But now that Ross has spent a week with you, he doesn’t know how he’s going to go back to it.  He’s spent the days telling you about anything and everything, and you’ve done the same. Despite the length of his life, he doesn’t know a lot about humans. You’ve told Ross just about everything you know—he even asked how humans were born. Blushing and stuttering, you’d roughly explained the process, unable to say no to his big blue eyes and genuine curiosity. This daily routine, going on walks with you down ancient paths he knows by sheer muscle memory, sharing words and silence equally, has started to become normal, and Ross finds himself getting attached.

            “Tell me about your home,” Ross says one day. The two of you are laying on your backs in the center of his clearing, feet pointed in opposite directions but your heads next to each other.

            “What about it?” you ask, as that’s a very broad question.

            “Do you like it there? Is it nice?” Ross asks. You glance over at him, but his gaze is still fixed to the clouds above you.

            “Yeah,” you answer after a beat of silence. You tell him about your home, the upstairs apartment of a house in the suburbs. It’s small, and it’s not much, but it’s home. Despite the beauty of the forest around you, you find yourself missing home. You miss your bed, the tall bookshelf in your living room, your old couch. Ross has been great company, but you miss seeing other people. Your downstairs neighbor, a kind old woman who’s always bringing you sweets and showing you pictures of her grandchildren, is bound to be worried about you. Your boss probably wonders where you are. If your phone wasn’t dead, you would probably have a bunch of voice mails from him. You briefly wonder if you’re fired.

            But as much as you miss home, you don’t know if you want to leave either. You’ve gotten used to the forest. It’s easier to walk around, even without shoes, since you’ve been following in Ross’ footsteps. You can roughly tell what time it is based on the position of the sun, and birdsong has become a comforting background noise you’ve grown quite accustomed to. Going back to civilization, back to a normal life, seems almost undoable at this point. It’s only been a week and a couple days according to the notches you’ve made on a small fallen branch you found on your second day here, but you know you’re going to have trouble letting go when the time comes.

            And then there’s Ross.

            Despite your attempts to push your initial attraction to him down, the feelings have come back with a vengeance. Now you’re actually starting to get to know him, and there’s emotional attraction present now too, rather than just physical. Your fears that Ross would tire of you have faded. He seems to rather enjoy having you around. There’s always a light in his eyes when you’re telling him something about yourself, and the silences that fall between the two of you are always comfortable. You consider him a friend, and you hope he thinks the same of you. The faun has complicated things quite a bit. You can’t bear the thought of leaving him alone. But you can’t stay forever.

            Ross doesn’t miss the wistfulness in your voice or the quiet longing for home in your eyes. You never stop looking at the clouds, but you’re all he looks at as you talk. His eyes flit over your features, savoring this moment of you next to him, bathed in sunlight, your hair spread around your head like a halo. He’s grown attached to you, used to you—your laugh, the sound of your footsteps behind him, your smile, the sight of you curled up in the middle of the clearing in the morning, still asleep and wrapped up in your blanket like a caterpillar in its cocoon. The thought that he’s going to have to let you go at some point makes Ross’ heart ache, but he doesn’t let it show. He forces his expression to remain blank, and he’s quiet for the rest of the day. You don’t mention it.

            Late into the night, Ross can’t sleep. He’s curled up on his side, facing the trunk of his tree, away from you. He places his hand in front of him, palm face up and parallel to the ground, a few inches from his face. He closes his eyes with a quiet sigh, feeling a familiar tug in his stomach. When he opens his eyes again, the specks of his magic are forming a miniature version of you walking through the woods on his palm.


	5. Lending A Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends are supposed to help each other out, right?

            “When do you think you’re going to leave?”

            The question takes you by surprise. You look over at Ross, a small crease in your brow. He’s concentrating on picking berries and placing them on a large leaf so he can carry them back to the clearing. He doesn’t so much as glance in your direction. Your brow furrows more as you turn back to your own bush, plucking a berry from one of the branches.

            “I don’t know,” you admit after a minute of tense silence. “I have no idea how I’d get out of here.”

            “It’s pretty easy,” Ross says. “Humans always come from the north. That’s the side of the trees where moss grows. Just follow that and you’ll get out.”

            “Right,” you murmur, looking down at the purple juice staining your fingers. Ross hums, and you keep picking berries, your heart feeling a little heavier than before.

            Ever since you’d told Ross about your home, he’d seemed…off. More distant. More closed off. It was like you’d just met him, as if you hadn’t spent every waking moment of the past ten days with him. The warmth in his eyes was gone, but it wasn’t quite ice. They maintained their sky blue shade, but now they’re hazy, like there’s a barely-visible cloud in the sky. You weren’t quite sure what to make of it before, but now you realize that he’s most likely beginning to tire of you. Your heart sinks more as you think about the fact that he asked _when,_ not _if_ you were going to leave. The fantasy that you’ve been living is starting to give way to reality.

            The two of you finish, wrap the berries up in the leaves, and head back to the clearing. The silence doesn’t lift, and neither does the tension. Ross walks a little farther ahead of you than normal, and it hurts more than it ought to. You have no idea what you did wrong, and you don’t want to ask, thinking that if you don’t acknowledge it, it won’t be as real. You attempt to make small talk, but Ross only responds with shrugs, one-word answers, or non-committal noises. Frustrated, you glower at the ground as you walk, familiar enough with the path that you don’t always have to look directly in front of you to know where you’re going.

            When you get to the clearing, Ross takes the leaf bundle from your arms and tucks both of them against one of the walls of his tree. You wipe the juice on your jeans, which are so dirt-stained and worn by now that you don’t care about a couple more stains. Ross walks back over to you, and you notice that his fingers are still coated with juice, dried sticky on his skin.

            “I have a few things I need to check on in a part of the forest that’s too dangerous for you,” Ross says. “I’ll be back before nightfall. You know where the river is if you need something to drink, but other than that stay here.”

            “You’re sure I can’t come with you?” you ask. You’re not too fond of the idea of going anywhere dangerous, but you also don’t want to be alone. It’ll get boring quickly.

            “I won’t be long,” Ross insists, and you see a hint of warmth in his eyes. The grip on your heart loosens a little. A ghost of a smile forms on his lips, and he grips your shoulder lightly as he walks past.

            “There’s still juice on your fingers,” you say, turning around. Ross looks down at his hands and shrugs.

            “I’ll be fine. It’s just berries.”

            “Won’t it be annoying though?”

            Another shrug. “I guess. I can always clean my hands off in a creek.”

            “Let me help,” you blurt out, and oh. You can feel your cheeks burning, heat radiating off of them as if they’re on fire.

            Ross raises an eyebrow. “How exactly will you do that?” he asks with skepticism in his voice.

            “Just come here,” you say, sitting down on the rock. Ross still doesn’t look convinced, but he decides to humor you and plops down next to you.

            Your hand gingerly wraps around one of his wrists and you bring it to your face, your heart pounding. The gravity of what you’re about to do isn’t lost on you as you gently cradle Ross’ palm in both of your hands and press a kiss to his fingertips. Pink immediately dusts across his cheeks, his eyebrows raised and eyes wide. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and your gaze shifts from Ross’ hand to his face as you gently take his index finger in your mouth, tongue swirling around the tip. The juice is sweet on your tongue, but it’s nothing compared to the faun’s expression.

            Ross’ cheeks have gone completely red, his jaw hanging slack. His eyes are still as wide as saucers, pupils slightly dilated, as he stares at your mouth. His eyes dart up to meet yours, and his jaw snaps shut, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. You can tell he’s confused and more than a little shocked by what you’re doing, but you can also tell he doesn’t want you to stop any time soon. A low hum rumbles in the back of your throat, and Ross bites his lip, eyes still boring into yours. You wish you knew what was going through his head right now.

            A small, muffled groan escapes his throat as you pull his index finger out with a small pop, and it seems to fluster Ross more than it does you. He bites his lip harder, a few beads of sweat forming on his temple. You hope for another groan when you slowly take his middle finger in your mouth, but are met instead with another thick swallow and his free hand curling into a fist. You continue with this procedure, cleaning Ross’ fingers with your tongue, reveling in any hint of a noise you pull from him.

            You’re both panting by the time you’re finished, red in the face, sweat dotting his forehead. Ross stares at your mouth, stained purple from his fingers. He brings his hand back down to rest in his lap shakily and looks you in the eyes, his pupils still dilated. You’re sure your eyes are a little blacker than usual as well.

            “Uh,” Ross says, stuttering, “thanks.” You nod.

            “Be sure to hurry back,” you say in a low voice, and his face darkens a shade. The faun stands up on slightly shaking legs, almost stumbling out of the clearing, and you watch him go with a smirk.


	6. Don't Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing lasts forever.

                You let out a content sigh as you slip into the river, the water warmed to a pleasant temperature by the sun over the course of the morning. Most of the dirt and grime that’s collected on your skin is washed away by the current, and you scrub at the more stubborn particles. You don’t have soap or anything like that, but it still feels good to get clean. What you wouldn’t give for a hot shower. You’ve already washed your clothes, and they’re drying in the sun on the river bank.

                The forest is quiet around you, and you’re more grateful for the solitude than you thought you would be. It gives you time to really weigh your options. If you leave, you’ll leave Ross behind. You’ll go back to your normal life, in a predictable, dead-end job, every day the same thing over and over. But you’ll also have things like plumbing and the internet and electricity and human contact. If you stay, you’ll get to live in this beautiful place forever, with a daily routine that you actually enjoy, and someone you care about by your side. But you’ll most likely never see any of your friends or family again, and unless new fauns or dryads are born, Ross will be your only companion. You sigh, sinking low into the water. In reality, you know you should go home. But you just can’t leave Ross.

                You’ve made your decision.

                By the time both you and your clothes are dry, the shadows are long and the sky is starting to turn orange. You tug your shirt over your head and put your hair back in a ponytail before going back to the clearing. Ross still isn’t back yet, so you pick a few wildflowers (being sure to apologize to them as Ross has told you to) and start weaving them into crowns. You had done it when you were a child, and something about the task relaxes you. You’re just finishing the second one when Ross steps through the ivy curtain. You smile at him, and the corners of his mouth twitch, his face turning a little pink when your eyes meet.

                “How’d it go?” you ask, placing one of the crowns on your head.

                “Everything’s fine. I had to relocate some foxes that were doing a little more damage than normal, but other than that nothing too interesting,” Ross replies. You hum in response, and silence falls between you. You can feel him looking at you.

                “I thought about what you asked earlier,” you say quietly. You stand up, the other crown of wildflowers in your hands.

                “And what’s your answer?” His eyes are closed off once again.

                You smile warmly at him. “Never.” You place the flower crown on top of his head, carefully lowering it over his antlers. “I want to stay.”

                Something flickers in his eyes, something that looks like happiness, but then Ross is staring at you incredulously. “What?”

                “I want to stay with you,” you repeat.

                “You can’t,” Ross says sharply, and your smile falters. “You don’t belong here. You belong back in your home. In the—what did you say it was? The suburbs?”

                “But I don’t want to go back!” you protest. “Ross, I—”

                “You have to!” he cuts you off. Anger burns in his icy eyes. “You aren’t meant to stay in a place like this! You have to go back to where you _fit,_ where there are _people!_ You never should have come here in the first place! This whole…this whole experience was a mistake!”

                His words sting. The grip on your heart is back, twice as hard this time, and your vision blurs slightly as tears form in your eyes. You swallow thickly, your voice trembling as you choke out, “If you want me gone so badly you should have said so. I-I’ll—I’ll just leave!”

                Without thinking, you turn on your heel and run out of the clearing, tears now flowing steadily down your cheeks. You yank your wrist out of Ross’ grip and ignore his desperate cry of your name, crashing through the undergrowth. The crown of wildflowers lays on the ground, forgotten.

* * *

 

_My fault. My fault. My fault,_ is the only thought that runs through Ross’ mind as he tries to follow you, struggling to see where he’s going in the dying light, even with his night vision being stronger than any human’s. Clouds cover the sky in a thick layer, showing no sign of fading, meaning there will be little to no light once the sun sets. Ross silently curses himself for making you cry, and the fact that he upset you enough to send you tearing through the forest just as the sun is going to set makes him want to tear his hair out.

                He’d been overjoyed when you told him you wanted to stay. Reality had quickly swept in, however, and he’d known he’d have to try to convince you to leave. He’d already tried being standoffish, but that had just made you press into him more, and being a dick was the only other thing he could think of. It never occurred to him that he could put you in danger.

                During the day, the forest is perfectly safe. There are certain parts that humans should avoid due to hard-to-see cliffs and large populations of hostile animals, but Ross had never led you to those places. Then again, he’s never told you what parts to stay out of. Now anything bad that happens to you is going to be all his fault, one way or another, and he’s never been more scared in his life. His fear only increases when the sunlight fades completely and he’s plunged into almost complete darkness. The thought of you lost, scared, and alone in the dark makes his heart clench. He silently thanks the forest gods that humans are so clumsy; all he has to do is follow a path of damaged undergrowth to find you. Which he will. Eventually.

                When Ross does find you, you’re curled into a ball at the base of a tree, your face buried in your knees, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. He slowly approaches you, and you look up at him, tears streaking down your face. Even in the dark, he can see the light reflect off of them. You don’t say anything as Ross kneels down next to you, gingerly brushing your tears away with his thumb. The action makes your lip quiver, and his heart just about cracks in two.

                “I’m sorry,” Ross whispers, holding your face in his hands gently, his own tears beginning to form. “I’m so sorry.”

                “I thought you didn’t want me around,” you sniff.

                Ross chuckles weakly. “Dumbass. You think I _actually_ want you to leave?”

                You pull away a little, so only his fingertips brush your cheeks. “If you don’t want that, why did you say any of what you did? Why did you say this was a _mistake?_ ”

                He sighs. “I know you can’t actually stay here. It’s just not practical. You know that too, so don’t even start. I was just trying to do something that would make you want to leave. Being cold wasn’t working, so I tried being a jerk instead. I guess that worked, but I never wanted you to just run off like that.”

                “God damn it Ross,” you say softly before flinging your arms around his neck in a tight hug, hiding your face in his shoulder. He smells like pine needles and fresh earth. He wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you as close as he can and burying his nose in your hair. You feel him shudder and hear his breath hitch slightly as a few tears roll down his cheeks. You just hold him tighter.

                “I want you to stay,” Ross whispers, his voice low, thick, and shaky. “I want to spend every day with you.”

                “I want that too,” you whisper back.

                “You’ll be unhappy here,” he argues weakly. “There’s only so much I can give you. You’ll miss other humans. Your friends. Your family. You can’t give up everything for me.”

                “You can teach me how to talk to the plants. That way I have someone to complain to when you act like a douchebag.” He laughs, hoarse and weak, but real.

                “I wish I could,” he says, a small smile in his voice as his fingers run through your hair. Your eyes close when his nails brush against your scalp, a quiet hum escaping your throat. You feel a small shiver run through his body at the sound, and you turn your head to look up at him.

                “Ross?” you say quietly.

                “Hm?” he responds, and your heart threatens to burst from the way he’s looking at you, his eyes full of affection and the corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile. You place one of your hands on the back on his neck and connect his lips with yours.

                Ross inhales sharply through his nose, and you hesitate, about to pull away when one of his hands splays across the small of your back, the other coming up to cup your jaw. You can taste the berries you picked earlier on his lips. A small groan escapes him when you tug on his bottom lip with your teeth, and he pulls you closer. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest. You gasp as his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, and it’s your turn to groan into his mouth as his tongue slides against yours. You pull away after a few more achingly short moments, a string of spit connecting your lips. You blush, and Ross chuckles. He holds your face in his hands gently, brushing hair out of your eyes, and blushes when you press a kiss to his palm.

                “I don’t even have juice on my hands,” he murmurs, pressing your foreheads together and closing his eyes. You laugh and press a kiss to his nose.


	7. Back to Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part is saying goodbye.

            You spend as much time with Ross as you can. You know deep down that you can’t stay forever, but you extend it for as long as possible. The next few weeks are just like the first, only with more affection-filled looks and kisses. Every day feels like it’s straight out of a fairytale, and you couldn’t be more grateful. But then the wind starts to get colder, and the leaves begin to change. According to your stick calendar, you’ve been with Ross for a month. You wish it could have been longer, but you know you won’t be able to survive the winter out here. Ross knows it too.

            On the forty-second day of your stay in the forest, you walk hand in hand with Ross to the part of the forest that people usually hike through. He stops on the end of a hiking trail, and you feel tears threatening to fall. After a goodbye filled with tears, shaky voices, kisses, and a tight hug ending with a kiss on the forehead, you trudge down the trail, your heart feeling heavier with every step. When you turn around, Ross is gone. You swallow thickly and walk on.

            The park rangers go into a frenzy when you return. Apparently, they’d conducted a search for you starting the second day you went missing. How they never managed to find you remained a mystery. When you plug in your phone, it practically explodes with notifications and text messages and voice mails. As expected, you had about ten from your boss, eight of which were him asking where you were. The ninth was a declaration that you were fired, and the tenth was a rushed apology; apparently he’d had no idea you had gone missing. Your mother had left about twenty voicemails and texted you endlessly, the voicemails filled with sobbing and the texts filled with worry.

            The rangers insisted you go to the hospital to be evaluated. While you’re a little malnourished after living off of nothing but berries and the occasional nut, you know nothing else is wrong, but you give in so they’ll get off of your back. Everyone you come in contact with asks how you managed to survive so long in the wilderness by yourself, and you always give the answer that you supposed it was just luck. They give you unsatisfied looks, but you honestly don’t give a shit. You know that if you told anyone about Ross, they wouldn’t believe you, and you don’t want to think about what could happen to him if anyone went looking.

            After a few days in the hospital, the doctors are satisfied that you’re healthy and ready to return to a normal life. Your family had come to visit during that time, and you don’t remember the last time your parents held you so tightly or you’d seen your father cry. It finally hits you that you could have died when you see your mother’s face, and so you cry right along with her. You leave the hospital tired. You just want to go home and sleep in your own bed. Your neighbor embraces you when she sees you and insists you come in for dinner, and the prospect of a hot, home cooked meal sounds so good that you can’t refuse.

            A week passes, and everyone stops looking at you like you’re a walking corpse. You’re relieved that all the attention is over; transitioning back to living with hundreds of people after a solid month of only being around one other person was a jarring process. Your thoughts turn to Ross often. You wonder what he’s doing, how he spends the colder months, if fauns hibernate with the trees. You consider going back to the forest many times, but you know that if you go back now it’ll be even harder to leave.

            Months pass without much happening. The leaves fall off of the trees. The wind blows cold and harsh. You hope Ross has a shirt or something for this time of year. It gets so cold it snows. You wonder how Ross looks with snowflakes in his hair and if his eyes will be the color of ice. In early spring, there’s a night that gets too cold and causes frost to form on the ground. You think of the plants, wondering if any of them died from the unseasonal cold. The air gets warmer. Flowers bloom. Leaves come out. You lace up your hiking boots.

            The path is familiar now. You remember what Ross said about humans coming from the north and bring a compass. You see him emerge from the ivy curtain and call his name. His eyes widen when he hears your voice and you’re running into each other’s arms, happy tears filling your eyes, his laughter ringing in your ears as you cover his face in kisses.

            This time, one month turns to three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eight thousand three hundred seventy-six words and 32 (!!!!!!!!!) pages later...
> 
> Thank you all for reading! This has been one of my favorite stories I've written so far, as well as one of the longest :) I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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